Hawk's Spirit
by Amberfire
Summary: A story of the Tale'sedrin, the Children of the Hawk. After a selfless act of courage, a crippled Shin'a'in horsetrainer is given her life back. If you read, review! Thanks.


A story concerning the Shin'a'in. I haven't seen any Shin'a'in stories around—perhaps this is the first? You can expect more from me about the Shin'a'in, too, so beware. 

Disclaimer: Shin'a'in, the Shin'a'in Song of the Seasons, the Maiden, Warrior, Mother and Crone, and the Rover, Guardian, Hunter, Guide are all copyright the wonderful and talented Mercedes Lackey. Everything else is copyright me. 

If you read, review. Got it? Thanks. ^.^

~*~*~*~*~

The smell of spring was on the air, and the east wind stirred Se'ravern shena Tale'sedrin's hair. About her, the Clan was celebrating the coming of the new season. The horses, catching the cheerful mood of the people, and the newness of the season, were frisky, even the eldest among them acting like foals.

Beside Se'ravern, her brother Gevrin launched into song, kicking his horse lightly into a quick trot as he passed the wagon Se'ravern sat on. "_The East wind is calling, so come ride away/Come follow the Rover into the new day/Come follow the Maiden, the Dark Moon, with me/The new year's beginning, come ride out and see!_"

The rest of the Clan took up the song, even those with voices that were not so good. Se'ravern alone did not join in as the others sang through the verses of the other seasons, their voices chorusing the old Shin'a'in song. The song ended when they re-sang the spring verse, and all around there was laughter and cheer. After a harsh winter, it was such a pleasant change to be in the plains now.

Se'ravern alone did not join in the cheer and the singing of her Clan. She stared straight at the ears of her grey mule who pulled the wagon along, sighing, and trying _very_ hard not to look at the horses or her right leg. This was in vain however; the whoops and cheers of the Tale'sedrin children as they raced their horses always made her eyes flick to them. The lovely saddle horses they rode, made her look at her leg, her eyes full of longing.

The leg in question was dangling like her other leg, from the bench of the wagon. It was different from her other one only in the clothing covering it—it was heavily padded with extra material, with straps holding the padding in place. 

It had not always borne extra padding, however. This was just more evidence of the new Se'ravern, the Se'ravern after the Accident.

_No. Do not think of it. Look happy. The nephews are beginning to look worried._ Se'ravern plastered a very fake, but cheery, smile upon her face as she looked at her twin nephews, who were walking to match her mule's pace beside the wagon. The boys, Ina'tran and Ivo'livan, grinned up at her in response.

They were tall for their age, long-legged and had refused to ride anything since midwinter, when they had sprouted another few inches. They were identical, and it was very hard to tell them apart. They had not yet reached the age, however, when they could break their own saddle horse—that would come later, in the summer. For now, they, unable to ride their fat little ponies anymore, were walking, sometimes hitching a ride in a wagon. Oftentimes hers—since the Accident, they had taken it upon themselves to try to cheer her up the best they could.

It wasn't working very well, however, but Se'ravern appreciated their efforts. As much as she lived for nothing anymore, she would not commit suicide (as she had been thinking for a very long time after the Accident) and hurt the two. She _had_ taught them how to ride, after all—thus making her a very important part of their lives. 

_From the way the Clan has taken to thinking, I am a very important part of _everybody's_ lives. _Her smile, which had been fading, became a small grin of real amusement. Since the Accident, everyone in the Clan had been very kind to her, and always insisting how important she was. Se'ravern had wished for them to leave her alone, but had appreciated those efforts also—acting polite and agreeable had taken her mind of the Accident, and her leg. And Steelsoul.

_No. Steelsoul..._

Another song was sung now, and one of her distant cousins challenged the twins to footrace, or more correctly, an obstacle race—the race consisted of racing around various wagons, dogs, people and horses, and avoiding aforementioned objects.

The pace the Shin'a'in Clan moved at was a slow, languid pace, letting the Tale'sedrin enjoy the new, fresh season. This also left plenty of time for Se'ravern to fall back into the heavy depression that hung over her like a black cloud.

***

The Shin'a'in finished setting up camp by dusk. Clouds had gathered in the sky, warning of rain, but Se'ravern ignored this. She saddled her placid mule, and rode away from the camp. The camp was by the crater walls of the Dhorisha plains, and it was towards these walls, right by them in fact, that Se'ravern rode.

It was raining steadily by the time Se'ravern reached a stream right beside the towering walls. With difficulty, she dismounted the mule—mounting, she had just crawled atop the mule from her wagon, but dismounting was harder, since she was trying to get to the ground.

She put her left foot in the stirrup, and gripped her padded right leg in her hands, wincing as she pulled it over the saddle. This movement caused her to lose her balance, and she fell off the stirrup with a cry. Butterfly the mule—he was named so since he was as friendly and gentle as a certain kind of butterfly found only in the Plains—looked at her with concern.

"I'm alright," she told him stiffly, pulling herself into a sit position. Her back was soaked from the rain-drenched grass, and her rear ... was wet, to say the least.

She got herself into a crawl position and proceeded to drag herself towards the stream, doing her best not to move her right leg in any other way that simply having it dragged along behind her. She made it, and collapsed, her head falling into the stream. The water ran into her face, and she took a deep drink before once agin forcing herself up. Her arms were getting stronger, since she used them so much after the Accident, but they were currently feeling the strain of having to pull herself around, and aching.

"My life means nothing," she said in despair to the water, which made no noise, save the sound of rain _plinking_ it. 

Thunder sounded in the skies above. "Ah, Maiden," moaned Se'ravern, "Why do you choose today to mock me?" It had been thunderstorming the night of the Accident.

The first day of spring had always been her favourite day. Spring was always her favourite season—it was foal-training time, for starters, and she had loved horses, and still did, although she could barely look at them anymore. She and horses and always shared a special bond—she had never met a horse that didn't like her, and vice versa. She _had_ been Tale'sedrin's chief Horsetrainer, and had taught a great deal of the Tale'sedrin children to ride. Horses were her life, or had been. The other passion in her life had been archery. There was—had been—none more skilled than she at horse-archery. 

But no longer. With her leg injured past healing, or so the Shaman-Healer had said, she could not ride as she once did. The strain on her arms was so much nowadays that she could not string her old horsebow, could not shoot as she once did. Besides, between the work she forced herself to do and the pain she daily felt, both physical and mental, when was there time to practice archery?

Why had the Accident come? Why had her loves been torn from her? First Se'ravern had thought the Mother and Hunter wanted her—then they allowed her to live, in the bleakest of despair. Why? She was still young...

_It was my own stubborn fault. That's why._ Trying to return to the plains in the midst of a thunderstorm from Kata'shin'a'in, after the tent city had been taken down for the winter, was a fool's mission. That was what Se'ravern was, she thought now, a fool. It had been a dreadful mistake...

The wind picked up, and a flash of lightning illuminated the night-darkened scene. Butterfly snorted anxiously, nosing the back of Se'ravern's neck. She twisted her torso around, and nodded, "Yes, we should go." She had just said the last word when a terrified whinny split the air. 

Se'ravern's head snapped around, and she saw to her horror a young battlesteed foal trapped upon a ledge high on the crater wall, soaked and frightened. 

_Maiden!_ Se'ravern ordered the mule to stand still, and with a groan and a wince, pulled herself painfully up onto the saddle, her arms screaming in protest.

She ordered Butterfly to the crater wall, stepping through the shallow stream. He was right beside it when she ordered him to stand still again. She pulled herself unto a ledge directly under the foal's. 

The filly again let out a piercing, fear-filled neigh, that tore at Se'ravern's heart. "Don't worry, child, I'm coming," whispered Se'ravern to the foal.

Using her good leg, and her arms, she steadily climbed. Pieces of shale and dirt rained down upon her from the filly's trampling. The rock was slick from the rain, making the going dangerous.

Lightning split the sky—_Lightning flashes. Rain drenching. Steelsoul's frightened snort, her reluctance to go on. Se'ravern encouraged her onto the treacherous, rain washed road leading to the plains. Carefully, the battlemare inched her way along—_and still Se'ravern climbed. Her right leg was in pain, her whole body numb and chilled from the cold spring storm. Her fingers felt wrong to her, icy and protesting each time she forced them onto a higher ledge, or handhold. Her arms were shaky now, and her whole body trembled. Above, rocks slipped and fell as the rain beat against them, and as the filly stamped and half-reared, bucking and whinnying in absolute fear.

A boulder rolled down the steep wall, too close to Se'ravern for comfort—_Steelsoul slipped, her scream piercing the air as she tumbled down, pitching towards the plain head first, Se'ravern thrown from her back, rolling down the wall_—and her hand grasped for a handhold, only to grab a handful of loose rock and dirt.

It was treacherous going, and the thought suddenly echoed, "_How will we ever get back down?_"

The wind tugged at her multi-coloured clothing, and tried to push her off the wall simultaneously. _Maiden, please let me get through this!_ With a final, agonizing effort, Se'ravern pulled her sore, bruised, and aching body upon the ledge. The filly was still going wild with her frantic movements, but Se'ravern began talking, hoping this would soothe the filly down. It did.

"Shh, little one. I'm here, everything _will_ be alright. Somehow I'll figure out how to get us down from here, than I can take you back to whoever you belong to and all will be well."

The words, however, that Se'ravern said over and over were, "Calm down, pretty one, little lady, shush, I am here." No battlesteed could ever be pretty, but the filly was young enough to still have the adorable look of a young child, her eyes wide and trusting now, her over-large head looking cute and not horribly out of proportion with her bunchy body, which was not all that mature, and still growing.

There was not a great deal of shelter on the wall, and Se'ravern felt terribly exposed to the elements, as she calmed the filly down. There was no way she could climb down now, with her arms aching, her right leg throbbing with a steady, uncomfortable pain, her whole body half-numb with cold, the wind nipping at the exposed skin of her neck, face, and hands.

A faint cry on the wind made her look down, and when she did, she saw one of the Tale'sedrin she didn't know—all of Tale'sedrin she was related to, except for the remnants of another Clan that was slaughtered (their murderers were dead now, half the survivors were Swordsworn, and quite smug over something...) and had been adopted into Tale'sedrin—below her. She only knew she didn't know him (she was positive it was a him) for he wore his clothing in the style of the additions (as they were called after they were adopted into Tale'sedrin—it was no insult, however, just an inside joke between the two-made-one Clan(s)) and in a peculiar colour pattern.

She tore her bright orange sash from her waist and waved it in the air, shouting the while, trying to attract his attention. The filly snorted in surprise at these antics, but trusted Se'ravern enough to let her get away with it.

She saw the man wave back, and dismount the battlesteed he was riding. He was very agile as he began to climb, and she sighed subconsciously as she watched him climb, wishing she could still move as he did.

He disappeared, going directly under the ledge to climb. In a few moments, she saw something, just barely, through the rain. She reached out and grabbed it—it was rope, tied to a rock so that it could be thrown. He tugged the rope lightly, and it dawned on her what he wanted. She tied the rope around an out-cropping of sturdy (she hoped) rock, and tugged twice—standard Shin'a'in sign of 'yes', or in this case, 'yes, it's secured now'. She got an answering tug.

In a few minutes, she saw the man leap to the ground below.

Not stopping think—in fact, she had just stopped thinking—she scooped the filly into her arms, and grabbed the rope in an iron grip. The filly made no protest, understanding what was happening. Se'ravern was suddenly very thankful for the intelligence of battlesteeds.

Slowly she got down, with her legs only, and the rope to keep herself from slipping. She did not realize that she was using her injured right leg—the leg that the Shaman-Healer had forbidden her to use, saying it was injured past healing—like her left, and it held, not collapsing, nor protesting more than her left one.

When she finally made it down, she fell to the ground gasping in pain. The filly rolled away from her, and stood shakily. The man, who had been waiting below, whispered soothingly to the filly, who kept close by him.

"Thank you," he told her. His voice was low and melodious, pleasant to listen to. "I was looking for her—she's a very valuable lady, and she's quite important to me."

Se'ravern pulled herself into a sitting position, and blinked at the man, dazed. "Did I—"

"Save my girl here?" asked the man, rubbing the frightened filly's neck. 

"No..." Se'ravern shook her head. "I _know_ I did that. Use my leg. My right," she pointed at her over-padded leg. 

He looked quizzically at it, "Yes...?" The question in his voice made her wince reflexively. He offered a hand to her, and she took it, standing up shakily—but standing! She hadn't stood on her own in months. Not since the Accident. 

She shivered, and he shook his head at her, as she was about to reply. He asked her only for her name, which she whispered. "Se'ravern, we need to get you to the camp! You've got a fever?"

"Why am I not surprised?" wondered Se'ravern, just as she blacked out, the pain and the strain of her work today catching up with her.

***

Se'ravern came to in a tent. But it wasn't her tent, for the interior was a warm gold, not the orange-and-bright yellow of her own. Someone was shoving something into her mouth. A spoon, and its contents was warm rabbit stew! She gladly let whoever it was feed her, as slowly her senses sharpened back to normal.

The first thing she concentrated was taking stock of pain. Her right leg was, amazingly, pain-free, as was her left. Her body was delightfully warm, and it was her arms that hurt the most, followed by her head, which ached most painfully.

The man spoon-feeding her was the same that had rescued her last night—or rather, assisted her to help rescue the filly—and he looked quite concerned. He smiled when she blinked dazedly at him, showing a set of fine, white teeth.

"So, you have awoke. Your relatives have been in and out of here all day, all worried about you. My tent was closest, in case you would like to know, so that's where you are, if you were wondering. You have a bit of a fever, and are quite chilled."

"Uuugh," she moaned, as she attempted to sit up, and managed, feeling very dizzy. "The filly?" she asked, her first intelligible words of the day.

"Is alright, safe, and quite content now that she is by her twin. I thank you for your heroic actions, Se'ravern."

"Twin?" Se'ravern blinked groggily. "Twin?"

"Yes. She's an orphan filly with a twin. She has no name..." the man's voice trailed off.

Se'ravern blinked again. "What is it they call you?" she wondered, as the dizziness subsided.

"I am Avar," he told her. 

"I think," she said carefully, "That it is I who should thank you, and your filly also."

"How so?"

"Help me to stand." Without letting him respond, she got out of bed and stood, grasping Avar's arm to steady herself.

She let go, and wobbled a bit, spreading her arms to keep herself balanced. "I can stand," she whispered. "My spirit is restored..."

***

The filly and her twin galloped about, frisking and playing, some ways from the camp. The two were growing up nicely, though the filly Se'ravern had rescued had not yet been named. Her twin, another filly, was called Stormspirit, after her dead dam. 

Avar, who had swiftly become Se'ravern's friend, shook his head. They stood by the tents, watching the fillies. "I still do not know what to call her! But I can't have an unnamed battlesteed..."

Se'ravern blinked a tear as she thought of something. "What about Steelsoul?" she asked very quietly.

"What was that? I didn't quite here...?" Avar turned to her questioningly. 

"Steelsoul. Name her Steelsoul."

There was still a question in Avar's eyes as he agreed readily to the name.

"You know why I was so shocked at being able to stand?" For the first time Se'ravern was telling the story of the Accident. It didn't hurt now, not like it used to. It was summer, and Se'ravern was happier than she had ever been—some miracle had cured her leg when she went to save the filly, and she had been able to participate with the spring horse training. Every night Se'ravern thanked the Warrior that she had been healed—as she had said, her spirit restored. No longer did she feel depressed. 

Avar's eyes widened as he shook his head again. He'd known about the Accident, of course. However, no one but Se'ravern had truly known the full, true story. Se'ravern hated to talk about it, still.

"It was the day after the taking down of the tents at Kata'shin'a'in," Se'ravern began. "I had visited an aunt there, and met with an outClan woman whom I had met the previous year to talk over horses. It was raining, but I very much wanted to return to the plains. A thunderstorm, just like the night when I rescued th— Steelsoul. I was riding my own battlesteed then, her name was Steelsoul." She smiled bitterly at the look of recognition on Avar's face.

"She tripped. I was a fool to make her go, but, 'hindsight is ever perfect'." She added another proverb. "'That was then and now is now. The moment is never the same'. I will never do that again. Anyway, she fell over the side," Se'ravern closed her eyes and grimaced in pain. "I fell too. I landed a few meters from her, on my right leg. The pain was ... unmentionable. When I was healed, or as much healed as I could be, the Healer-Shaman said that I could never use my right leg again. I was crippled for life."

Avar winced in sympathy. He knew how much horses and riding them meant to her. With a crippled leg, she could never ride as properly as she once had. Yes, she could _ride_, but it wouldn't be like she could with both legs properly working. Also, she was a _Horsetrainer_. To break the wild Shin'a'in horses properly, one must be completely healthy, to be able to keep up with the horses' antics.

"That night ... I can only believe the Maiden healed me," Se'ravern said. "I know not why, but—"

Avar nodded. "And so, you feel as if you killed Steelsoul?" 

Se'ravern sighed and nodded.

Avar gestured at the filly. "You can have her, then. It was an accident, as you said. She likes you already—you can see it in her eyes. I know you have not taken another battlesteed as your own, or a saddle horse. Butterfly is really too old to be your mount. You can train her and keep her."

Se'ravern stared in shock, then in gratitude. "Thank you..." she whispered. It was all she could say. Se'ravern's spirit was not just restored, it was soaring. Life had never tasted so sweet to her. She had her body, her horses, her Clan—what more could one ever want?

Overhead, a hawk flew, it's silhouette shadowy against the light of the sun. It screamed, free and wild, content to be master of the skies.

~*~*~*~*~

The End. Sorry, there will be no sequel. Please, please, pleeeease review! I'm on my knees—review!


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